


Powder Snow

by Royal_Prussian_Fox



Series: Round [3]
Category: Pocket Monsters SPECIAL | Pokemon Adventures
Genre: Canon Compliant, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Spellcheck hates Sapphire's dialogue, critical mass of headcanons, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 02:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14202633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Royal_Prussian_Fox/pseuds/Royal_Prussian_Fox
Summary: The color of beginnings.





	Powder Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Happy spring! (Or autumn, if you live like the penguins do!) Have a winter fic. There are a fair few headcanons included in here, more than I usually feel at liberty to include. (But when you think about it, aren't fanfics just huge collections of headcanons anyway? I rest my case.)
> 
> Set over the course of eight years, starting before the RGB chapter and ending after the Emerald chapter. The events of those chapters are referenced only obliquely, but fair warning nonetheless.
> 
> Comments always appreciated.

It snows on the first day of the new year. Red is brushing his teeth when he notices. He gargles, spits, and rinses his toothbrush in record time. Not a minute later, he is racing out into the field of pristine, pale fluff covering Pallet Town.

The snow crunches under his feet as he tromps into the yard. He grabs at it with eager hands. It's white and soft and everything Red remembers about it. But it's never snowed this early in winter (at least not the handful of winters Red is old enough to recall) and so it seems to Red that today's snow is whiter and softer than he remembers. Red presses the snow into a ball and hurls it at a tree; the snowball hits the bark with a dull thump and scatters apart, falling and rejoining the blanket of white hugging Pallet Town.

Red stops and exhales. His breath floats up and away from him. The sun is cool, and the sky is pale. The air holds its breath. The world could be empty except for Red. There is no birdsong, no Pokémon cries, no wind. There is only Red and the pure white laid on the ground like a blank page. Houses and hedges emerge here and there as though they've been drawn in with crayon. It is almost as if, Red thinks, the world itself wanted a new start for a new year.

Red scrambles to start another snowball. He carves out dimples in the flat, snowy fields again and again until the yard in front of his house is marked by divots like gopher holes. Red sculpts snowball after snowball in the muffled silence until he sees his fingers start to turn purple, and Red realizes he is still dressed in only a long-sleeved shirt and sneakers. He retreats back inside and runs warm water from the sink over his hands. He hasn't prepared for it to snow yet. The kotatsu is in pieces and stored away in the attic; the warmest of the winter clothes are stowed deep in the closet. It will take several hours to find everything, and even in pieces, the kotatsu is nearly too big and bulky for Red to carry. But the snow beckons to him, and so Red climbs up the stairs and brushes away the dust and cobwebs and lugs the pieces of the kotatsu down one by one. He spends the greater part of an hour hunting for a screwdriver. He totes down a futon from upstairs to put the tabletop on. He finds an extension cord in the backyard shed. He sorts through jackets too big for him and insulated pants too small for him, and finally puts together a mishmash of clothing that he, broadly speaking, fits into. He places them under the kotatsu to heat them up, and puts them on when they are warm like a crackling fire.

The shadows have already started to grow long when Red goes outside again, this time better dressed for the weather. He decides to make up for lost time. He lets Poli out of his Poké Ball right away. They build a small Snowmon. It's a Pikachu, with buttons for eyes and a happy mouth Red draws with his finger; Poli supplies two pointy icicles for the ears. They have a snowball fight, and even though Red thinks Poli's water-type gives it an unfair advantage, when Red yields and allows himself to fall on the ground, panting and laughing, Poli flops down right beside him, as though Red had been a worthy opponent. They carve out snow angels, and Red laughs out loud when he sees Poli's: a perfectly round circle with short, stubby wings that would surely not be big enough to fly.

Pale lights flick on in the nearby homes; shadows flit past in the windows. The snow fades from white to gray to a deep blue and finally to black as the sun sets, and points of light begin flickering in the night sky. When Red can hardly see his boots, he decides it is time to call it a day. He trudges back inside and begins unwrapping himself. Snow has managed to wedge itself everywhere in Red's clothes, underneath his jacket and atop his scarf and tucked in between his pants and boots, and it falls and melts onto the carpet. He removes his boots, and his toes ache and gasp for breath. His jacket, too, is tighter than he would like. Red decides he needs to buy new winter clothes soon, before it becomes too cold.

Red turns on the television and huddles under the warmth of the kotatsu. There is a cartoon on that Red's seen before of a boy whose Clefairy gets him into all sorts of trouble, and Red watches for a while until his stomach growls. A full day of playing out in the snow has made him hungry. He turns the television off and pours rice into the rice cooker. He opens the fridge and automatically reaches for a pair of eggs. He cracks them into a pan. In fifteen minutes, Red is sitting at the kitchen counter with a plate of omelette rice and a mug of green tea, illuminated only by the solitary kitchen light.

He has only just sat down when a loud peal of laughter bursts from the home next door. Red glances out the window. All the lights in the home next door are on, and through the closed drapes, Red can see shadows moving and talking. Red turns back to his plate. In the dull light of the kitchen, the omelette rice and mug of green tea have both stopped steaming. He clicks his chopsticks together. "Thank you for the food," Red says. He eats. The only sound that comes from Red's house is the tapping of chopsticks against the plate.

* * *

Red has a problem with a capital P.

"Pika, please be the bigger man," Red pleads. Pika growls threateningly. Sparks crackle from his cheeks. He glares at Snor, sitting upright on the living room floor, and whose hand is paused in midair, halfway through reaching for Pika's bowl of food. Snor innocently withdraws his hand, but only by an inch. Pika huffs skeptically and doesn't budge from his position protecting his food bowl.

"Okay, let's all calm down," Red says. He alternates between sending a pleading gaze toward Pika and sending a pleading gaze toward Snor. "Snor, I'm sorry that I'm out of food. If it was any day but New Year's, I could run down to the store and buy more. I know you're hungry, but that doesn't mean you can steal Pika's food when he's not looking.

"And Pika, Snor was wrong to take your food, but you have to put yourself in Snor's shoes — well, paws. Snorlax have to eat a lot," Red tries to explain. "Maybe you can forgive him?"

Pika glares daggers at Red.

"Guess not," Red sighs. Vee is curled up underneath the kotatsu with only his head poking out. His eyes shine in amusement.

Saur helpfully pushes his own bowl of food toward Snor. Red leaps up to grab the bowl before Snor can reach for it. "Whoa, hold up! Last time you ate some of Saur's food, you got sick. Remember?" Red prays that Snor remembers, because he can think of places he'd rather be than in between a hungry Snorlax and a bowl of food. Snor raises a considering hand toward Red, but apparently decides to follow Red's advice, and pulls his hand back with a low, rumbling whine.

Red breathes a sigh of relief. He places the bowl back in front of Saur. "Thank you for being kind, Saur," Red says, patting Saur on the head. "But we don't want anyone getting sick, do we?"

Saur shakes his head no.

"Right. Nobody gets sick," Red agrees. He does not feel the urge to mop up a pool of Snorlax vomit a second time.

Pika gives a guttural shout. Red feels his hair stand on end. He belatedly recognizes the sensation as Pika preparing an electric attack. Only a second later, he hears the telltale crash of a Thundershock. He spins around to see Pika pressed down against the floor, tail high in the air and pointed at Snor. Snor, for his part, does not look much the worse for wear, only cocking his head and considering Pika as if he is wondering whether the rodent is edible. Vee, safe and warm underneath the kotatsu, looks back and forth from Pika to Snor as if he's watching a tennis match.

"Jeez, I turn my back for only a second and you both are going at it! It's New Year's Day! Can't the two of you give it a rest? You know, spirit of the season and all that?"

Pika doesn't budge an inch. Snor doesn't budge an inch, either, except to casually lean closer to Pika's food bowl. Pika growls again.

"Look, guys," Red hastens to say. He runs a hand through his hair. "I know you're both upset at each other right now, but —"

The doorbell buzzes at the worst possible time.

Red runs a hand through his hair again. "We're not done yet, okay? I need to answer the door, so just — wait here, right? And don't do anything while I'm gone. No Thundershocks. No stealing food. No getting sick. Good? Good," Red says. He dashes over to the front door before anyone has the chance to disagree.

Red yanks the door open. Green is standing on the other side of the threshold. He turns his head from where he's examining the potted plants on Red's windowsill and examines Red instead. His brow furrows.

"Is now a bad time?" he asks.

"Yes," Red declares. "I mean, no. Well, kind of."

Green raises an eyebrow. "Which is it?"

"Er, it's kind of," Red decides. "I have a minute. What's going on?"

Green looks unconvinced, but after a moment, he speaks anyway. "It's New Year's Day," he announces.

Red waits for Green to elaborate. He doesn't. "Uh. Yes, it's New Year's Day," Red agrees.

Green looks at Red's potted plants for a moment. Then, he says, "It's short notice, I know. So it's okay if you're already doing something else. But Gramps wants to know if you want to come over for New Year's. Dinner and conversation. You know."

Red stares at Green. He doesn't know.

Green mistakes Red's silence for hesitation. "Your parents can come, too, if they want."

"Oh. No, that's okay."

Green looks disappointed, but nods anyway. "That's fine. Some other time, then."

"Wait, no. That's not what I meant. My parents are, uh," Red hesitates, searching for the right words. "My parents are out," he finally decides.

"Oh," Green says. "It's just you, then."

"Right. Just me," Red says with a chuckle. The ensuing silence quickly smothers it.

"So," Green finally says, looking at Red impatiently. "Does just you want to come over for New Year's?"

"Er, well," Red begins. He studies his shoes. "…I have plans," he decides.

Green nods, once, slowly. "I see. Another time it is."

"Sorry," Red apologizes. "But thank you for inviting me. I hope your New Year's is —"

A tremendous boom nearly shakes the house from its foundation. Green looks up at Red in surprise, and Red despairingly realizes that the high-pitched yowls and guttural growls rolling out the front door belong to his Pokémon. Something smells singed.

"— Better than mine," Red grimaces. He runs back inside to take stock of the damages, whereupon Red discovers that he is now the proud owner of a kotatsu that's been charred black. As a bonus, it reeks of electrical fire. Saur is using his vines in a vain effort to push Pika and Snor apart. And save for a sliver of a fluffy tail peeking out from under the sofa, Vee may as well have vanished entirely. Snor looks at Red with an entirely innocent expression, all while Pika has pressed himself so close to the ground that he has seemingly become one with the carpet. His fur is standing entirely on end, as if he had just been pulled from a sea of balloons.

"Is everything okay?" Green asks, wide-eyed behind him.

Red groans. "Define everything."

Green looks at the singed kotatsu. There's a gaping black hole where the heating unit once was. "Not including the kotatsu," Green clarifies.

Red laughs ruefully. "After what Pika did to it, I don't think it can even be called that anymore."

"Is there a reason Pika looks so…" Green trails off. He looks Pika up and down. "Pointy?"

"Pika and Snor are fighting over Pika's food because Snor's hungry. Everywhere's closed and I'm trying to get Pika to share, but he's being stubborn," Red explains with a sigh. "I've been trying to keep them from fighting for half the day already."

"Ah."

"It wouldn't be a problem if today wasn't the new year. I know people are spending the day with their families, but I'm not, and if Snor doesn't get food I'm not sure I'll have a house by tomorrow."

Green shifts his gaze away from Red, looking over Red's living room, empty except for Red and Red's Pokémon and a charbroiled kotatsu. "I know a place," he finally says.

"Ha. Good one."

"No, really."

"You're serious? You're not joking?" Red exclaims. He feels a wave of relief wash over him. "Where?"

"The Oak Pokémon Research Lab."

"Huh?"

Green rolls his eyes. "Gramps is a Pokémon researcher, isn't he? He's got enough Pokémon food lying around to last for years. I bet there's Snorlax food in some storage shed somewhere."

Red frowns. "That's all for Professor Oak's studies, though. I can't just take it."

"Suit yourself, I guess," Green shrugs. His eyes rove around Red's living room until they come to a rest on what was once Red's kotatsu. "Let me know how your new line of charcoal furniture works out."

Red winces. He looks around his living room, himself. The charred hole in the ex-kotatsu stares back at Red. Vee tentatively reemerges from underneath the sofa. He experimentally taps a blackened portion with a cautious paw. It crumbles to dust at his touch.

"If you're sure it's all right," Red relents.

"I'm sure," Green affirms. "Now, we should get going. I can think of things I'd rather do than get in between a hungry Snorlax and its food."

Professor Oak wastes no time in scolding Red for his lack of foresight and lectures him on the proper care of his Pokémon, but dutifully allows Red and his Pokémon access to the food storage. Red is so relieved to see Snor happily full and Pika happily unbothered that when Green asks if he wants to stay for dinner, Red agrees without thinking. Daisy's cooking is delicious. Professor Oak takes the opportunity to regale Red with stories of his time as a Pokémon trainer. Daisy nods and laughs politely at all the appropriate parts; Green, who has surely heard everything at least twenty times before, mouths Professor Oak's words back to Red when he thinks his grandfather isn't watching, and rolls his eyes more times than Red can count. Red listens to it all with a smile. The sun has long set before the dishes are cleared from the table. When Red finally returns to his house and tucks himself into bed, yawning, he can still hear the melody of clinking cutlery. He falls asleep to the low, harmonizing hum of conversation.

* * *

"Which do you think? These ones or the others?"

Red looks up at the sound of Blue's voice, and immediately finds two identical pairs of shoes thrust in front of his face. They're both black, and they're both leather, and they both have heels too high to be safe to walk in.

"They both look good," Red decides.

Blue frowns. "That's not very helpful."

"Sorry," Red says sheepishly. "I'm sure you'd look good in either of them."

"Aw, that's sweet of you," Blue coos. "Maybe I'll just have to get both?"

Red feels his face go white. "Both?" he croaks.

"Why not?" Blue says mischievously. "You promised to buy me shoes if I bought you lunch, right?"

Red sighs. He did promise. It had seemed harmless enough at the time. Red only fully realized the gravity of his error when Blue made a beeline for the single most expensive retailer at the mall. Red won't be making that mistake again.

"The soles feel way more comfortable on these," Blue muses, taking off one pair of shoes to try on the other pair. Red takes the opportunity to glance at the price tag. He flinches.

"On the other hand, this pair's just so cute! And since when has fashion ever been comfortable?" Blue says aloud. She strikes a pose in the mirror. Red isn't sure how to respond to that. He wonders how much money he'll have to take out from the ATM. Blue strikes another pose.

"Excuse me," a store clerk interrupts, emerging from the far end of the aisle. "Are you finding everything all right? Would you like me to bring you anything else to try on?"

"No, thank you. We're perfectly fine over here," Blue smiles sweetly. The clerk frowns down at the empty boxes and shoes strewn about the floor. Blue smiles back at her. The clerk frowns and nods and retreats skeptically down the aisle. Red thinks it has something to do with Blue spending more than a half-hour trying on different pairs of shoes without buying anything.

Blue poses again in the mirror. She cocks her head to the left. Then she nods once, sits down, and starts putting her original pair of shoes back on.

"Did you decide?" Red asks, hopefully.

"You bet."

"So which ones are you getting?"

"None of them."

"Huh?"

Blue looks at Red with a playful smile. "Come now. I only wanted to see how they looked on me. You didn't think I was actually going to buy any of these, did you?"

Red stares at her, dumbfounded.

Realization dawns on her. "Oh no, you did, didn't you?" Blue says. She smiles comfortingly. "Poor thing! No wonder you looked like a kicked puppy all this time!"

"I looked — what?" Red stammers.

"No, don't worry. I wasn't going to make you buy me something this pricey. I wouldn't do that to you," Blue reassures him.

"You scammed me out of half my wallet the first time we met," Red points out.

"That wasn't my fault. You looked like such an easy mark, I just couldn't help myself! But don't worry, I forgive you," Blue smiles, and leads the way out of the store. She waves heartily at the clerks. They glare back at her.

Red stumbles along behind. "Wait, wait. So you just wanted to window-shop?"

"Mm-hmm," Blue confirms merrily. "All those shoes were lovely, too."

Red frowns. "…You weren't planning on stealing them, were you?"

Blue manages to look offended. "Do you really think so poorly of little ol' me?" she laughs, then grins a wicked grin. "Besides, if I _had_ stolen something, I wouldn't be standing here chatting. I'd have already left you and the police in the dust."

Red's not really comforted by that.

"But I'm still holding you to buying me a new pair of shoes," Blue informs him. "The people on the weather keep saying it's going to be a wet winter, so I'm thinking boots. They'll be fashionable and functional."

Red looks down at his sneakers. They're getting tight, and the insole near the heel has long since worn itself away. And now that he's on the subject of shoes, the last time he bought winter boots was two years ago. Red hasn't dug them out of the closet yet, but he's pretty sure they don't fit him anymore. Gloves, a sweater, and a new coat are already on Red's steadily growing mental list of clothes he's already grown out of. Red adds boots to the list.

Blue interrupts Red's shoe troubles with a peppy wave of her hand. "And since the holidays are almost over, now's the best time to go shopping, after all."

Red glances up at her quizzically. "Huh? How's that?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? Everybody goes shopping before the holiday season. They buy dolls, and new dresses, and those limited-edition action figures that kids always love to play with for a week and then never touch again. The malls are packed with people. It's great for pickpocketing, not so much for shopping."

Red chokes on air.

"But afterward? Everybody goes home to huddle up near the fireplace with their families," Blue explains, and turns away from Red so she can gesture at the rows of outlets lining the arcade. Red follows her hand as it waves past signs hanging in the windows, emblazoned with red-and-yellow starbursts, advertising discounts as loudly as possible. A handful of shoppers trickle past on the floor below them. Blue doesn't say anything more for a moment; then, she turns back around, and there's a fiendish smile on her face that reminds Red too much of their misadventures in Celadon City for him to feel entirely safe. "Stores have to dump the rest of their stock somehow, and you know what that means. Sixty percent off! Three for the price of one! Everything must go! Really, the only thing better than getting a brand-new dress is getting it half off."

Red mulls it over. "That makes sense, I guess. I never thought about it before."

"Of course it makes sense," Blue scoffs. "Didn't your parents ever teach you how to look out for a sale?"

Red hesitates. "No, I can't say they have," he eventually says.

"That's almost criminal, and I would know. You have to know the value of your money. Finding stuff on sale — that's one of the first things I ever learned. What do parents even teach their kids these days?"

"I don't think most kids go around doing their own shopping."

"I do," Blue shrugs matter-of-factly. "And _you_ are, aren't you?"

Red hesitates again. He's not sure what to say. He's not sure what to say for too long: Blue frowns and looks at him with a cocked head and a raised eyebrow. Her eyes scan Red's face, equal parts microscope and mirror, until they finally come to a stop on Red's own.

"…I guess I am," Red finally comes up with. Somehow, it sounds like a confession. Blue's frown lengthens.

Red is desperate to talk about something else. "Are you doing anything on New Year's Day?" Red demands, before Blue has the chance to demand anything of him. The words tumble from his mouth like water spilling from a glass.

The change of subject seems to knock Blue off-balance. "Where'd this come from?" she asks.

"It just popped into my head," Red says, because he's not sure he knows, either. But he's here, now, so he presses on. "So? Do you have plans?"

Blue puts her smile back on. "Plans?" Blue repeats, light and airy as always. Red looks at her, and when she meets his gaze, he sees himself reflected in her eyes.

A split second is all it takes for Blue to look away and turn her head down and laugh into her hand. "What, you think a cute little thing like me wouldn't have anything to do on New Year's Day? Of course I have plans."

The words are out of Red's mouth before he can think about them. "Come over to Green's," he says.

Blue looks knocked off-balance again. "What?" is all she can manage.

"Green has a celebration on New Year's Day. You should come."

"I'm sure Green will be overjoyed to hear that _you're_ inviting people to _his_ parties."

"We're all friends. I'm sure Green won't mind."

Blue considers Red hawkishly, her voice suddenly taut like a bowstring. "You keep saying things out of nowhere. I already said I have plans, anyway, so what does it matter?"

"I didn't mean anything by it," Red surrenders, holding his hands up. "But if your plans fall through or something, and you don't have anything to do… Well, the invitation's open, okay?"

Blue says nothing for a moment. She rests a hand on the nearby handrail, and looks down to the ground floor, watching a cluster of people leave a café. Red joins her at the handrail.

She's smiling again when she turns back toward him. "You expect me to believe that Green throws parties? _Green_?"

"Well, it's not really a party," Red admits. "More like a… gathering? With really good food?"

"He cooks now? Are you sure we're talking about the same person?"

"Daisy cooks. Not Green."

"Oh, good. I'd hate for you to get food poisoning on New Year's Day," Blue says impishly. "Which reminds me, we were going to do lunch, weren't we?"

Red's stomach growls. Red smiles sheepishly.

"I'll take that as a yes," Blue grins. "It's my treat, so you can pick the place. Unless it's too expensive, then you're on your own."

"Why do you get to go to the expensive places and not me?" Red protests.

"I didn't buy anything, did I? And besides, we still have to get me a pair of boots." Blue roves a judgmental eye down to Red's shoes. "And based on the ratty look of your sneakers, you could use a new pair, too."

"Fine, fine," Red sighs. They spend the rest of the day arguing over which restaurant to eat at, and after that they argue over which shoes Red should buy.

The weather is good on New Year's Day, so Red doesn't bother with boots and instead wears his brand-new sneakers (the ones Blue insisted he buy because they "went well with his hair," whatever that meant) when he walks to Green's home. Green welcomes him with a smile, Professor Oak claps a hand on his back, and Daisy pops her head out of the kitchen to say hello before vanishing to watch the food. When Red makes his way into the living room, Blue is already there. She's sitting on the couch, a mug of tea in her hands. She greets him with a chipper wave of her hand.

"Oh, thank goodness you finally showed," Blue exclaims in relief. "Green doesn't have the slightest clue how to throw a party. Where's the music? The lights? The alcohol?"

"Alcohol? Gramps would kill me."

"There's no excuse for not having eggnog."

Green rolls his eyes. "Pesky girl," he mutters, and heads into the kitchen.

Red sits down on the opposite end of the couch. Blue cradles her mug carefully in her hands, and looks inside it as if she's attempting to determine just how profound the depths of her tea are. She turns and looks Red square in the eye.

"I only came because I needed to know whether Green was physically capable of having fun," she informs him.

Red doesn't miss a beat. "Well? Is he?"

Green returns just as Red finishes asking the question. He hands Red a fresh mug of green tea. Red gratefully accepts it, and takes a small sip. Blue watches, contemplative. A smile eventually crawls up her face.

"Jury's still out. But it's good enough for today," she announces.

Green frowns. "Good enough?" he repeats. "What's good enough?"

Blue laughs the question off. "It's nothing," she smiles.

Green's frown deepens. "It's not nothing. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh, wait," Blue says, and examines Green again. "I think I've changed my mind."

Green's frown deepens again. "About what?"

Blue only giggles in response, and Green mutters something under his breath and retreats into the kitchen out of frustration again. Blue crosses her legs on the couch and takes another sip of tea. She's wearing her new pair of boots.

* * *

Red watches raindrops pelt the window. They fall cold and wet: dark and heavy raindrops from a dark and heavy sky. They pound against the glass like thousands of pebbles tumbling from a cliffside, and then they burst apart into curtains of water. Attempting to make out anything beyond the window is useless; there are only shadows beyond the torrent. It is just as possible that Red is looking into the mouth of a raging waterfall, or into the darkest depths of the sea.

Blue's ringing laughter spills out of the dining room for a brief moment. Then it's submerged again beneath the rain, rattling and rumbling against the rooftop. It reminds Red of a legend he once heard about an ancient Pokémon that grew angry and brought about a flood. Red cannot recall how he knows the story, or even how it ends. He only knows that he knows it, and that because he knows it, someone must have told it to him, even if that someone has long since vanished into the mists of memory. Red finds himself wondering what kind of Pokémon would be able to create a flood. Gazing out into the downpour, he decides that, if there was to be a primordial flood like the one in the tale, this is what it would look like. The rest of Pallet Town seems a world away. Maybe even farther — another universe.

Red is so close to the windowpane that his breath fogs on the glass. He smiles, and puts a finger up against the window. He draws a poor impression of an Oddish. The body is hideously misshapen — egg-shaped instead of round like a ball — and instead of leaves, the Oddish looks like it's on fire. Red chuckles to himself. Drawing has never been his strong suit. Red decides to put the drawing out of its misery, and moves to wipe it away. He presses his palm against the windowpane. He feels a frigid burst of pain stab his wrist. Red bites back a yelp and yanks his hand back. He stares down at his hand. It's pale and trembling.

"Um. Red?"

Red jumps. He turns. It's Yellow.

"Er, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you," Yellow stammers. "I just… thought I'd, um, see if you wanted any tea."

Red looks down. There's a silver tray in Yellow's hands. On top of it are two steaming mugs of green tea. One mug is molded into the shape of a Psyduck. The other has the face of a Slowpoke.

"If… you don't want any, that's fine, too," Yellow adds. "I can take them back."

Red smiles warmly. "No, hot tea sounds great. Thank you," he says. He reaches for the Slowpoke mug, and wraps his hands tight around it, as if he could squeeze warmth from it like squeezing water from a sponge. He raises it to his mouth and takes a slow sip. It's hot enough to be almost scalding, but Red finds that he doesn't mind much.

"What are you doing?" Yellow asks.

"Just watching the rain," Red answers, and turns back toward the window. The Oddish on the window has disappeared. Only the steady rattle of raindrops against the glass remains.

"Oh," is all Yellow says in response. Red hears Yellow set down the tray and shuffle toward the window, too. Neither says anything further for a while. There is only the sight and sound of the rain.

"I like the rain," Yellow says, eventually. "It makes the trees grow big and tall. Then Pidgey and Spearow can build nests for their babies, and all the Pokémon in the forest can have lots of shade."

"Mmm," Red agrees, watching the steam from his mug curl upward in thin wisps. The pain in his wrist seems to dull. He likes the rain, too. He wonders whether he'll still like the rain a year from now.

"It's really coming down, isn't it?" Red murmurs.

Yellow nods. "It reminds me of the story of the Slowpoke."

"Slowpoke?" Red repeats. He tries to remember whatever vague details about the angry flood-bringing Pokémon that he can. He doesn't come up with much, but he's fairly certain the angry Pokémon's not a Slowpoke. He doesn't think Slowpoke are capable of anger.

"Fisherman used to always tell it to me when I was younger. It was my favorite story of his, I think."

Red wracks his brain for memories of bedtime stories, for a voice to match with the tale of the Pokémon and the flood. All the voices he remembers don't tell bedtime stories.

"How does it go?" Red asks.

"You've never heard it?"

"I haven't," Red confirms with a shake of his head. "Will you tell it to me?"

"H-huh? Me?" Yellow stammers, and turns away, blushing. "I- I don't know if I can remember all of it."

"It's fine if you don't want to. But if you're okay telling it, I'm okay hearing it from you."

"W-well…" Yellow trails off, and studies the floor deeply. Then a decision is reached: a single, firm nod. "Wait here for a sec, okay?"

Yellow vanishes down the hall, then returns carrying a sketchbook and passel of crayons, drops onto the couch, and flips the sketchbook open. Red sits down on the opposite end. He watches Yellow scribble furiously onto the paper. He cradles his mug close in his hands. He waits.

Yellow finally flips the sketchbook around. There's a drawing of two people standing in a field. Yellow takes a breath.

"Once upon a time, in a small village in the middle of a valley, there lived an old man and an old woman. The old man farmed the land from sunrise to sunset. The old woman caught fish from the nearby creek and sewed clothes for the two of them. Although they did not have much, they lived a happy life together.

"One day, the old man was walking home, when, on the side of the road, he saw a Slowpoke being kicked at by two boys. The old man rushed over. 'Why are you hurting the poor creature?' he demanded of them. 'We heard that Slowpoke don't hurt when you hit them,' said the elder of the pair. The old man was angered to hear such a callous response. 'Foolish children. All creatures feel pain, even Slowpoke. Shall I hit you, and you tell me if it hurts? Be off, now, or I shall tell your parents what wicked children you have been,' said the old man.

"Upon hearing the old man's words, the two boys ran off. The old man turned to the Slowpoke and said, 'You ought to be more careful. Not all humans are kindhearted. Go back to your home by the river, and live there in peace.' But the Slowpoke did not move. When the old man had walked long into the distance, he looked back, and still the Slowpoke remained.

"When the old man returned home, he told the old woman about the Slowpoke. 'How horrible, to think children could be so cruel. It is good that you were there to stop them,' she said. The old man replied, 'I wonder what brought a Slowpoke down to the valley? The only lake is far to the east.' The old woman thought for a moment, then said: 'Perhaps there has been no rain. The creek looks smaller, and there are not so many fish. It could be that we are in for a dry spell.' The old man frowned at her words. Another year without rain would be trouble. 'I hope you are wrong,' said the old man.

"However, the old woman was correct. Weeks passed with hardly a cloud in the sky. It seemed that every day was hotter than the last. It was one particularly hot day when the old man saw that a pair of Murkrow had set upon a Slowpoke with their talons. The old man dropped his satchel and ran to chase them off. The Murkrow scratched and pecked at his arms until they bled. But the old man persisted, and finally the pair of Murkrow flew away. 'Haven't I told you to go back to your home? I shall not always be around to protect you,' the old man told the Slowpoke. But the Slowpoke did not move. When the old man had walked long into the distance, he looked back, and still the Slowpoke remained.

"The old woman fussed and tutted over the old man when he returned home. 'Whatever happened?' she asked, and dabbed at his wounds with a wet cloth. The old man said to her, 'Do not worry. There were a pair of Murkrow attacking a Slowpoke. I happened upon them and chased them off.' The old woman shook her head. 'It's the heat,' she declared. 'The Pokémon are going hungry. That is why the Murkrow did what they did.' The old man looked out the window. 'It cannot continue like this,' he thought. 'Surely the weather must turn soon.'

"But the weather did not turn. A week later, the old woman went to the creek to fish, but the creek had gone dry. The old man could not remember a time when it had run dry before. The earth began to crack. The crops turned brown. Soon, there would be no crops left to water. 'However shall we celebrate the new year, with the weather so terrible?' fretted the old woman. 'I shall have no berries to make wine, nor flour for cake.' The old man replied, 'If it does not rain, we shall have far more to worry about.'

"The fields were quiet the next day. 'Even the Pokémon have fled,' said the old man to himself. 'They know more than we. Perhaps we must leave, as well. Or we shall otherwise starve.' The old man had just said this when he happened again upon a Slowpoke. It had fallen onto the ground, weak with thirst. The old man took pity on the Pokémon. 'Nobody — person or Pokémon — should suffer like this,' he thought to himself. He reached into his satchel for his canteen and a bowl, and poured the last of his water into a bowl for the Slowpoke to drink. 'You are a creature of the water, and need it more than I,' said the old man to the Slowpoke. 'Why have you not fled like your fellow Pokémon? Drink this, and now go find a better place to live than this dry land.' The Slowpoke lifted its head to look up at the old man. It yawned, and then began to drink from the bowl. When the old man had walked long into the distance, he looked back, and still the Slowpoke remained.

"That night, the old man told the old woman that tomorrow they would pack their things. 'Whatever for?' cried the old woman. 'We have lived here for fifty years. We cannot leave.' The old man wore a heavy frown. 'If it does not rain soon, we shall have no choice,' he told her, and the old woman quieted and said nothing.

"Then, the old man heard a noise. It was a sound like the tapping of fingers upon wood. 'Do you hear that?' asked the old woman. The sound grew louder and louder. It seemed to the old man that someone was knocking upon all the walls of their home at the same time. 'It cannot be someone at the door, can it?' wondered the old woman. The old man frowned. 'No. It is almost as if…'

"The old man ran to the front door and looked outside. He could hardly believe his eyes. The very heavens seemed to open, and rain tumbled down from the sky like a waterfall. 'Come quick, come quick!' he shouted. 'It is raining, look!' The old woman rushed over to him and looked for herself. 'It cannot be! There have been no clouds for days!" she exclaimed in astonishment. The old man said, 'The heavens have taken mercy on us. Let us be grateful.'

"It rained the entire night, and upon first light, the old man set out for the fields. The plants were tall and green, as though there had never been a drought. He hurried to tell the old woman of the news. 'You shall not believe it, but the fields are good as new,' said the old man. 'We shall have a good harvest for the first time in years.' The old woman was just as excited. 'You shall not believe it, either. I went to check upon the creek, and it is bigger than I have ever seen it. I was only gone for a minute, but when I came back, I found this at our door!' The old woman raised a small bowl to the old man's eyes. It was filled with a bag of the finest-ground flour, berries that were plump to bursting, and more gold coins than the old man had ever seen.

"'Why, this is the very water bowl I gave to the Slowpoke!' the old man exclaimed. The old woman smiled at him. 'This must be a gift from the Slowpoke, to thank you for watching over it," she said to him. The old man looked down at the bowl in wonder. 'Perhaps the rain, too, is a gift from the Slowpoke,' he said. 'We are truly blessed.'

"The valley never again lacked for rain. The years passed, and the land turned green. More and more people came to live in the valley. The tiny village turned into a bustling town. The old woman became well-known for making the sweetest cakes and the finest wine. And the old man built statues of Slowpoke all over the town, so that any Slowpoke that visited would feel welcome. Together, the old man and the old woman were known and loved by all the townspeople. After many long and happy years together, the old man and the old woman passed away peacefully in their sleep. The entire town came to pay their respects. And among them was a single Slowpoke, laying a flower at their grave."

Yellow turns the page of the sketchbook. There's a drawing of a Slowpoke, standing next to two stones with a flower in its mouth, surrounded by little blue lines of rain, pitter-pattering onto the ground.

"U-um," Yellow stutters. "Was I too boring?"

Red snaps back into reality. "No, not at all! It was good," he says reassuringly. "I was caught up in the story, that's all. It's…" Red trails off as he struggles to find the right words for the feelings tumbling around inside him. "I like it," he finally says, simply, and maybe that's enough.

Yellow looks relieved. "Oh, good. I was worried that I wouldn't be that good of a storyteller."

"You were perfect. I'm surprised that you know the entire thing by heart."

"I've heard it so many times. I guess I just know all the words by now."

"It has a happy ending," Red muses. "I like that about it."

Yellow nods. "The old man helps the Slowpoke. The Slowpoke helps the old man. It's what people and Pokémon should do — make friends and help each other. And then, in the end, when the entire town comes to be with the old man and the old woman, even though they're not family — I wish all people and Pokémon could have people to be close to, like that."

"Yeah," Red agrees. His mind wanders with the raindrops, to Yellow, to the Slowpoke, to all of Red's Pokémon (snug and warm inside their Poké Balls), to thoughts of an amorphous question-mark of a Pokémon so angry and so powerful that it could cause a flood. Red wonders how many times Yellow must have heard the story to be able to memorize it, and knows that the number is more than zero. Red takes a sip of his tea. It's only lukewarm now. Red finds he doesn't mind much.

"Do you want it?"

"Huh?" Red stammers.

Yellow nervously holds the sketchbook out to Red. "U-uh, my sketchbook. I mean, it's okay if you don't. I just thought, since you liked it — if you wanted to read it again —"

Red tilts his head. "You don't mind giving it to me?"

"I have lots of others. And this way you can read it whenever you want."

Red considers the offer. "Then I'd like that very much," he says, and takes Yellow's sketchbook in his hands. He smiles. "Thank you."

Yellow smiles back.

"You two aren't getting into any trouble out here, are you?"

Red jumps. Tea spills out of Red's mug and onto his pants. He's never been more grateful for lukewarm tea. Blue emerges from the hallway with a spring in her step and a twinkle in her eye. Green follows close behind.

"You're one to talk," Green answers her.

"I am!" Blue declares. "It's always the innocent-looking ones that get into the most trouble."

"Like you?"

"Like me," Blue confirms. Her gaze flicks from Yellow to Red, then settles on the sketchbook Red is holding. Red protectively covers it with his arms.

Blue waves a hand. "Well, it's been a fun night, despite Green's best efforts. I just came in to say goodbye," she announces, and tugs her coat down from the rack.

"What time is it?" Red wonders.

"Almost eleven," Green informs him.

"Really? I lost track of time," Red says.

"Me too," Yellow half-says, half-yawns. "I should get going."

"Yeah, me three," Red agrees. He stands and plucks his own coat from the rack. It's the black one Blue picked out for him last winter, and he hasn't grown out of yet.

"Hey, Red," Blue calls out from near the front door, where she's rifling through the umbrella stand. "Which umbrella's yours?"

Red freezes. "Oh no," he groans.

"Did you forget," Green says, flatly.

"It wasn't raining when I got here!" Red protests.

"I suppose I should've known that the one with the fish on it was Yellow's," Blue says, handing an umbrella to Yellow before glancing out the window. "But it's not raining too hard. You'll only be _slightly_ soaked."

Red looks outside. The rain is coming down in sheets. Red will be very soaked.

"Er," Red stammers. "Could I, maybe, share with someone?"

The room goes quiet. For some reason, Green is looking back at him with an incredulous stare, Blue seems to be barely holding in laughter, and Yellow looks ready to sink into the ground. "Or… maybe not?" Red says.

Blue's composure breaks. " _Share?_ An umbrella?" she giggles. "Oh, thanks, I needed that!"

Red feels his face heat up. " _What?_ What's so funny?" he demands.

"Just… borrow one of mine," Green sighs and shakes his head.

"Yeah, borrow one of Green's," Blue says, barely stifling giggles. "Mine's only made for one person. And if you shared with Yellow, well. In this weather, I think dear old Yellow would just melt apart."

"Blue —!" Yellow protests.

"Anyway," Green interrupts, and presses a simple, black umbrella into the one of Red's hands that's not holding Yellow's sketchbook. "Bring it back whenever you get a chance. Stay dry out there."

"I will. Thanks," Red smiles.

It is a minor miracle that Red manages to stay mostly dry the entire way back to his house. Red lays Green's umbrella out on a towel in the entryway, then stows the coat Blue picked out for him back in the closet. He carries Yellow's sketchbook upstairs to his room, and is sure to make room for it on his bookshelf, where it sticks out a little from all the others.

* * *

A hand claps onto Red's shoulder as soon as he walks through Green's front door.

"Well, if it ain't Red! Boy, howdy! I ain't seen ya in a Growlithe's age!"

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Bill?" Red answers with a smile.

Bill claims Red's hand in an iron grip and shakes it furiously. "It shure has! You oughta come 'round the cape. I've been workin' on the storage system — there's lots to show ya! And how's good ol' Vee? I've been fixin' to take another look at 'im —"

Daisy makes her way over from the living room. "Easy, Bill," she teases him with a tinkling laugh. "It's the holidays."

"Yes'm," Bill smiles sheepishly, and releases Red's hand. Red discreetly flexes his fingers in relief. "Jus' don't be a stranger, ya hear? Why, I seen more of Crys than a Houndour sees fleas, and we only hardly met!"

"That's because you're always working," Daisy gently reminds him. She shoots Red a knowing smile before she leads Bill back to the living room. Red smiles back and follows shortly behind.

"I keep tellin' ya, it ain't no work to be fixin' up a machine real fine-like."

"Still, you should take breaks more often," Daisy chides him. "And that goes for you too, Crys," she says, just as Crys emerges from the kitchen to wave hello to Red. Red waves back.

"I don't mind, honest. I like keeping busy," Crys answers her. "Speaking of which, the dumplings are nearly ready."

"Oh, good," Daisy says. She turns to Red and Bill. "I'm going back to the kitchen, now. The food won't cook itself."

"Is there anything I can help with?" Red offers.

"Do you cook, too?"

"Er. Does omelette rice count?"

Daisy hands Red a round glass filled with a dark red liquid that Red thinks looks suspiciously like wine. "Omelette rice does count. But we're not having omelette rice tonight. So relax. Have fun. The food will be ready before you know it," she says, then follows Crys into the kitchen.

Red considers the liquid sloshing around in his glass. He knows drinking alcohol is traditional on New Year's Day from seeing it on television, but besides being underage, he's never had anything alcoholic before, least of all on New Year's Day.

"So Daisy kicked you out of the kitchen, too?" Green says, blasé, walking over from the corner of the living room. There's a glass of the same dark red drink in his hands, too. Red looks skeptically at it. Then he looks skeptically at Professor Oak, sitting on the couch and talking animatedly with a sleepy-looking Yellow. He thought Professor Oak didn't approve of alcohol.

"She shure did," Bill says. "I'll be the first to tell ya how a 'lectric stove works, but usin' the dang doohickey's a real shiny Ponyta."

"Don't you have an engineering degree?" Red wonders.

"Figgers, don't it?" Bill sighs. Then he brightens. "Us fellers are real lucky to have Daisy doin' the cookin'. Why, I don't think I ain't never had food so good."

Green raises his eyebrows. "Oh? When has Daisy cooked for you before?" Green asks, seemingly casually, but Red's known Green long enough to know that there's an edge to the question.

Bill seems to recognize it, too. "Er. I don't rightly recall," he chuckles nervously. "Prob'ly sometime I was over at yer grandfather's lab."

Green's eyes sharpen further. Bill takes a self-consciously long swig from his glass.

The doorbell buzzes.

Bill taps his glass with his fingers. "Uh. Ain't ya gonna check the door?"

Green warily looks Bill over one last time, as if he's trying to decipher a riddle, then wordlessly disappears into the entry.

Bill breathes a relieved sigh. "Boy, that Green feller's pricklier 'n a Sandslash in a rose bush."

Red doesn't answer; he's still examining his glass skeptically. He wonders if he can figure out what the substance in his glass is if he stares at it hard enough, like Green seems to be able to do. He glares at it. The mysterious dark liquid inside remains dark and mysterious. He finally gives in to curiosity and takes a tentative sip. It's an odd combination of tart and sweet, and not at all bitter like Red had been expecting.

"You doin' alright, Red? Yer watchin' that glass like it done gone and bit ya."

Red shakes his head. "No, it's just — I guess I thought wine wouldn't be sweet."

Bill guffaws. "Wine? That ain't no wine. It's cranberry juice."

"Oh. Right," Red laughs, a little awkwardly.

"Why, ain't ya had wine before?"

Red shakes his head no.

Bill looks taken aback. "Wouldja knock me over with a feather! It's tradishun! Yer folks never let ya drink nuthin' fer New Year's?"

"I wouldn't know," is all Red says back.

"Hello, everyone!" Blue's cheery voice calls out from behind him. Red turns. Blue is waving her hand to everybody in greeting from the entryway, Green just a step behind her. She spies Red and makes her way toward him.

"I didn't peg the two of you for rule-breaking types," Blue greets them, eyeing the twin glasses of liquid-that-looks-suspiciously-like-wine-but-is-actually-cranberry-juice. "Has Green finally lightened up enough to let us drink booze?"

"Booze?" Bill pulls a face. "Naw, I ain't got the stomach fer it. Sits on me worse 'n sour milk."

"It's cranberry juice," Red clarifies. "It's good," he adds, helpfully.

"I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up," Blue says with affected exasperation. "Now I'm depressed, and there's no booze to wash it away with."

"What happened to all that cheer from a minute ago?" Green asks.

"Gone, never to be seen again," Blue exclaims with a melodramatic sigh. She points at Bill. Bill pulls his head back owlishly. "And you didn't even tell me we were allowed a plus-one! Really, Green, how could you?"

"He's not anyone's plus-one. Bill is Daisy's guest," Green explains.

"Oh?" Blue says, and looks Bill over more carefully than Red thinks is warranted. "That's good!" she finally chirps, and nudges Green. "The more the merrier, and the easier it is to _somehow_ make Green smile."

Green frowns. Red thinks he does it for the sake of it.

"Dinner's ready!" Daisy announces, coming from the kitchen with a plate of baked ham in a honeyed glaze that smells sweet and tangy. Behind her, Crys sets down a basket of steamed dumplings, soft and puffy like clouds in the summer. They sit right next to a round bowl of rice that is white as snow, and next to that is a black barrel-like pot filled to the brim with miso soup.

Daisy slides the pork onto the table. The glaze shimmers under the light. "Green won't say it, but being around his friends does make him happy, you know," she says.

"Daisy," Green warns.

"I'm sorry, little brother," Daisy smiles at him. "As your older sister, I'm allowed to embarrass you. In fact, I think I'm obligated to."

Green grumbles something under his breath. Crys re-emerges from the kitchen, now toting a red-and-black lacquer case filled with more rolls of sushi than Red can count. They're carefully arranged, like flowers in a bouquet, and the intermingled scents of fish and ginger and sweet rice vinegar immediately remind Red that he is hungry.

"Everything looks wonderful, as always, Daisy," Professor Oak says. "And Crys, if I knew you were just as good of a cook, I'd have invited you over ages ago!"

"It smells so good. Did you really make all this, Crys?" Yellow adds, admiring the colorful array of dishes.

"No, no," Crys laughs good-naturedly. "I only helped. Daisy did most of it."

"Nonsense, Crys," Daisy says. "You did more work than me. I couldn't have cooked for eight people all by myself."

"While y'all go arguin' 'bout who done what, our meal's gonna go colder n' a Sinnoh winter. Let's get to —"

The doorbell buzzes. Professor Oak, Green, and Daisy take turns sending each other questioning glances.

"We're not expecting anyone else, are we?" Professor Oak asks his grandchildren sternly.

Green shakes his head, a frown and a furrowed brow etched onto his face.

"Who's at the door, then?" Daisy wonders.

"Oh, that'll be Silver," Blue informs them cheerfully.

Green turns an entirely unenthused gaze onto Blue. "Silver," he repeats.

"Uh-huh."

"And you didn't consider telling us about this beforehand."

Blue shrugs. "You would've been prepared if you'd given us plus-ones."

Green glares at her.

Professor Oak makes a show of crossing his arms. "Although I can't say I appreciate the last-minute change of plans, it'd be beyond rude to send him away, and on New Year's Day, no less. There's plenty of food. I'm sure we can make room for one more at the table, Daisy?"

"But of course."

Professor Oak grunts and looks disapprovingly at Blue. "Then as long as Blue is kind enough to inform us about her plans next time, there's no reason to keep the boy standing out in the cold any longer. Let him in, Green. The night's not getting any earlier."

Green nods, and squeezes past Red and into the entryway. The sounds of conversation filter back on, and behind him, Red can hear Green working with the lock, and the door creaking as it swings open, and Green and Silver exchanging greetings.

"I have to warn you —" Silver begins.

"Man, it's _freezing_ out here! I'm going in, already!"

"What? No, wait!" Green's voice answers, suddenly urgent, and Red immediately hears bodies rushing past each other and feet stamping and a door slamming and an extended, pained sigh from Green. Red turns. Gold's grinning face is staring back at him.

"Whoa-hey!" Gold cheers. "Red-Senpai's here too! It _is_ a party!"

"— about him," Silver finishes lamely, emerging from the entry with Green standing behind him, both somehow wearing equally exasperated faces. Green looks helplessly at his grandfather. Professor Oak looks helplessly back.

"I'll get another chair, then," Daisy announces with a smile and without missing a beat, and vanishes down the hall.

"I'm so glad you came, Silver," Blue says, embracing him in a hug.

"Thank you for having me," Silver answers fondly.

"We would have been happier if you told us beforehand that he was coming," Green cuts in.

"And spoil the surprise? The anticipation's half the fun!"

Gold snickers. "Fun? Silver's about as fun as diarrhea."

"Gold!" Crys admonishes him. "We're just about to eat!"

"Boy howdy, it's shure gettin' to be a reg'lar ol' hootenanny over here!" Bill laughs.

Gold examines Bill skeptically. He nudges Crys. "Hey, is this guy for real?"

"He's from Goldenrod," Crys patiently explains.

"Man, I've been to Goldenrod a hundred times, and nobody talks like that."

"Um, should we do anything to keep the food warm?" Yellow pipes up.

"If it still is warm by now," Daisy teases, sliding another chair underneath the table.

Professor Oak claps his hands, and the room goes quiet. "All right, settle down everyone. The food's not going to eat itself — so everyone take a seat. We'll have plenty of time for conversation once we're all stuffed as Snorlax."

Just as soon as it arrived, the silence is gone, replaced with a mass scuffing of chairs against the carpet and the chatter of conversation. Red looks around. Green and Blue are arguing over where to sit; more precisely, Blue is insisting on sitting next to Daisy and away from Green, and Green is wondering aloud why Blue is insisting on sitting next to Daisy and away from Green. Daisy has pulled out a chair at the head of the table for her grandfather, and Professor Oak thanks her before taking his seat. Crys is spooning out steaming bowls of miso soup from a steaming pot, then handing them to Bill, who sets them down one place setting at a time. Yellow accepts a bowl from Bill with a grateful smile, then returns to her wide-eyed examination of the assortment of sushi. Silver has already plucked a piece of salmon sushi from the case, and Gold is squabbling with him over it, trying unsuccessfully to snatch it from Silver's chopsticks. The entire room is abuzz with the sound of people, people chatting, people arguing, people laughing, people clanking spoons against pots and picking up plates and clicking chopsticks. Red glances out the window. He wonders if he can see his house from here.

"Does that work for you, Red?"

"Huh?" Red says. He looks away from the window, toward Blue, who is gesturing at an empty chair. Beside her, Green lets out a particularly long-suffering sigh.

Blue huffs impatiently. "So I'll sit there, next to Daisy. Then it's Silver here, and then Red, and you'll be at the end, Green, next to the professor. I've decided Green doesn't get a say in the matter, so does that work for you, Red?"

Red doesn't have to think it over. "Yeah," he says, and smiles. "It works perfect."

* * *

"Thanks for coming over on such short notice," Green says. He's standing in the doorway to Professor Oak's lab, wearing only a faded T-shirt and threadbare jeans, which Red thinks is strange, not only because Green is usually meticulous about dressing well, but also because it's almost noon and the temperature is still barely above freezing.

"No worries. Aren't you cold?" Red asks, bundled up in gloves, a scarf, and three separate layers.

Green cracks a smile. "Don't worry. After a little heavy labor, it'll feel just like summer," he quips, and waves Red inside the lab.

Green is right: Lifting crates of Pokémon food and boxes of laboratory equipment warms him up in no time. Poli and Green's Machamp help out, but there are still plenty of boxes left over for Red and Green, and sometime in between moving the industrial-size cylinder of Full Heal into a shipping container and straining to lift the mechanical arm for Professor Oak's humongous healing machine, Red's shucked his coat and everything else that reminds him that it's actually winter.

"What does Professor Oak even do with all this stuff?" Red wonders aloud, perched atop a crate. He takes a long swig of water.

"What do you think?" Green answers from beside him. His face is ruddy with exertion. "He's a Pokémon researcher. He does research."

"Gee, thanks. I didn't know that," Red answers sarcastically. He gestures expansively at the masses of crates and boxes stacked up against every wall. "So why are we moving all this around? Is Professor Oak remodeling the lab?"

"Yes and no. A researcher from another region is starting a new lab, and put in a request for some old equipment Gramps isn't using anymore. So you go hunting for that stuff, and once you do that, well. May as well sort through everything now that you've started."

Red nods absently. He'd just finished the annual ritual of inventorying all of the winter goods in the attic, and went through his closet while he was at it. He'd thrown out more than a few too-tight shirts and jeans that hadn't seen the light of day in years. He's already set a date to get new clothes with Blue.

"And then Gramps has that conference coming up, too, so he wants to make sure he has everything prepared beforehand."

"A conference?"

Green nods. He takes a sip of water. "Up in Sinnoh. It's on Pokémon evolution, I think. Gramps has been running around piling up jackets and long underwear and everything. It's over New Year's, too, so he'll be lucky if it even gets above freezing."

Red starts. "Did you say it's during New Year's?"

"Yeah, it's a real pain. Daisy's going with him, but the rest of his aides are home for the holidays, so it's really only Gramps putting everything —"

"Professor Oak is going abroad during New Year's?" Red presses.

Green lifts an eyebrow. "That's what I said."

"What are you going to do, then?"

"Read a book."

"You can't just do that."

"Why not?"

"Because —!" Red nearly shouts, before he catches himself. Green is staring back at him, concern thinly veiled by skepticism. Red looks away and takes a long drink of water. "…That's just wrong," he finishes lamely.

"Even so," Green starts, slowly, gaze lingering on Red until he occupies himself by turning his own glass of water in his hands, "Gramps is strict about the house when he's not here. I couldn't have anybody over for New Year's even if I wanted to."

"We'll find someone else to host," Red decides.

"Are you sure?" Green says, skepticism still coloring his voice.

"Why not? It'll be easy," Red reassures him.

Blue declines without a moment's hesitation. "The heater in my apartment is broken, so unless you're bringing a sauna along with you, I'm going to take a pass."

Yellow is apologetic. "I'm sorry. My house is out in the woods, and it's small, so… I'm not sure having a lot of people over is a good idea."

Crys is apoplectic. "My house? With my mother? Absolutely not."

Gold instantaneously agrees. "Of course I'll do it! There isn't a better place to have a party than the Pokémon House!"

"Pokémon House?" Red parrots.

"That's what all of New Bark Town calls my place. I'm like a celebrity over here, y'know."

"You're sure it's okay?" Red asks again, just to make sure he hadn't misheard, partly because everybody else had said no, and partly because Gold's enthusiasm is dizzying.

"Course I'm sure!" Gold huffs, apparently offended that Red hadn't thought he was serious. "You let me crash at your pad for, what, like a whole week? Besides, it's Red-Senpai who's asking, so obviously the answer's yes."

"Remember to clean up after!" a woman's voice shouts over the phone.

"I know, Mom!" Gold shouts back. He turns back to Red. "Anyway, I told you it was all good, didn't I? So that's all there is to it. I'll see you on New Year's!" he declares, and Red is left staring at a black screen, with a "See you then" not even half-formed in the back of his throat.

Red and Green arrive together a half-hour early on New Year's Day, together because Pallet Town and New Bark Town are a region apart, and a half-hour early because Red couldn't stand the idea of being late. Gold's home is spacious and crowded all at once: cushions are spread across the floor, and a television set occupies the corner, with movies and discs spilling out onto the floor from the cabinet underneath. Music of a woman singing a catchy pop tune rolls in from another room. A Drowzee stomps upstairs, and Red can hear Pokémon chittering and scampering across the floorboards above him.

The smell of a half-dozen different foods blending together like ice cream lures Red into the kitchen. The music is louder, now, coming from a radio atop a windowsill. Next to it, a Krabby is chopping green onions between its pincers; a Chansey is cheerfully rummaging around in the pantry, collecting ingredients for something that is already making Red's stomach growl. And then, in a sight that Red thinks is nearly as strange as seeing a Donphan walk on two legs, there's Gold himself, who is keeping a hawkish watch over a bubbling pot atop the stove, sprinkling in some sort of seasoning and mixing whatever's inside. A Sandshrew spots Red and Green, and eagerly dashes over to paw at Gold's leg.

"I already told ya, Sandshrew, the meatballs aren't ready yet," he scolds, twirling a spoon between his fingers. "But when they're done you'll be the first to know. Deal?" He notices them standing in the doorway. He grins wide. "Hey, hey! It's Red-Senpai and…" he trails off. He screws his eyes up in thought. He grins wide again. "Charizard Man!" he decides.

"Charizard Man? Am I a superhero now?" Green mutters.

Gold trots over to the radio, and turns the volume down to a low murmur. "Sorry, DJ Mary. I got company over," he apologizes. "But man, I didn't know you were gonna be here so early. I woulda had snacks ready and everything."

"No, don't worry about it," Red reassures him. "You look like you have your hands full."

"You bet I do! It's all Silver's fault," Gold declares, crossing his arms in a huff. "He said he was gonna help, but it's been an hour and he's not even back from the store. I think he's standing me up."

"Is there anything we can help with?"

"You sure? Well, okay." Gold points to the refrigerator. "I've got all the stuff for spring rolls in the fridge. Could you julienne the vegetables — Krabby can help with that if you need — and then sauté 'em so they don't get the wrapping all soggy? I wanna get 'em in the oven quick, 'cuz I still got lemon bars I gotta bake."

"Uh," Red says, articulately. "Do what with the vegetables, now?"

"Julienne 'em," Gold repeats, moving back over to the stove. "They're in the bottom drawer on the left. Already washed and everything."

Red looks over to Green for help. Green looks back, nonplussed, clearly indicating that Red is on his own.

Gold glances up. "Is there somethin' wrong?"

"Er. That's…"

"Red has no idea what you just said," Green supplies.

"You don't, either!" Red protests.

"I can cut vegetables."

"He didn't say cut; he said juli… something."

Gold rolls his eyes. "Wow, I didn't know you were _that_ hopeless. If you really can't do anything else, I got rice I need steamed. You can do that, right?" he says, and jabs a thumb over at a rice cooker perched at the edge of the counter.

Red nods. Years of experience cooking omelette rice have taught him how to use a rice cooker. He can do that.

"Good. Hey, guys! Get some crackers or something for these losers," Gold shouts into another room.

"Jeez, now I know why we kept eating out when I was over at your place," Gold continues. A Weedle crawls up into one of the cabinets; seconds later, a bag of rice crackers drops out and onto the leaves of a waiting Oddish. "Not that I'm complaining, 'cuz now I know all the good places to eat this side of Pallet Town."

Oddish toddles over to Green with the bag of rice crackers, and hops up, offering them to Green. Green pauses, as if unsure, then reaches out a tentative hand and takes one. Oddish toddles back.

"But I figured at least Charizard Man knew something about cooking, since the food last year was awesome."

"Daisy inherited all the cooking skills," Green says, ripping open the plastic wrap and taking the rice cracker from inside.

Gold jerks his head up. "You mean I ate Daisy's cooking? Wow, she's amazing! She's real cute, too."

"She's also my sister," Green warns.

Gold ignores him. "Hey, is she coming over today, too? Girls like guys who can cook, don't they?" he wonders eagerly.

"She and Professor Oak are overseas, actually," Red cuts in, before Green can concuss Gold with his rice cracker.

"Wait, really? Then why aren't we over at Charizard Man's place? That's the perfect time to throw a party!"

"Gramps would fillet me if I tried."

Gold laughs derisively. "Well, I guess that isn't surprising. Oak really is a huge tight —"

Green clears his throat threateningly.

"— stickler," Gold says instead. "Hey, Red-Senpai, what about your folks?"

"They're overseas, too, or I'd ask them," Red answers.

"What? Again?" Gold says, surprised. "They were in some other country the entire time I was over."

"…Yeah," Red says. "They do that a lot."

"Hey, maybe they'll bring you another Pokémon poster like that Charizard one when they come back. You know, like a souvenir or something!"

Red watches the rice cooker intently. If he had a poster for every time his parents went abroad, Red wouldn't be able to see his bedroom walls.

"That reminds me," Gold carries on, sliding a lid on top of the pot of meatballs and removing it from the stove. "Charizard Man, did you know that in other countries —"

"Charizard are called Lizardon?" Green interjects.

"— Charizard are called Lizardon?" Gold finishes. He looks at Green expectantly.

Green stares back. "Yes," he finally says. "I knew that."

Gold pouts. "You're no fun. No meatballs for you," he declares, setting the pot next to the rice cooker. The top is fogged with steam; inside, the sauce sputters and bubbles.

"You can't do that," Green complains.

"Yes, I can. At least Red-Senpai steamed the rice. All you did was eat rice crackers," Gold complains back, just as Silver walks into the kitchen, grocery bags dangling from his hands. " _Finally_!" Gold exclaims. "What the heck took you so long?"

Silver doesn't dignify Gold's question with a response. Krabby scuttles out of the way just before Silver sets the bags down on the counter.

"Hey, don't think you can get out of this that easy."

"Nothing was open," Crys answers, following Silver to the counter. "That's what happens when you wait until the last minute."

Gold has the decency to look mildly embarrassed. "Hey, I couldn't decide what to make, okay? I didn't think it was gonna take, like, an hour to get everything."

"It was forty minutes," Silver says.

"It was longer, but whatever," Gold shrugs. "Hey, you're still helping with the food, right? Red-Senpai can only make rice, and Charizard Man's even more useless." Green bites down hard on his rice cracker.

Silver nods, plucking groceries from the bag.

"Good, 'cuz the spring rolls needed to be in the oven yesterday," Gold declares. He suddenly frowns. "What's that?" he demands, pointing at a bottle of lemon juice.

Silver looks back at him blankly. "It's lemon juice."

"Lemon juice?" Gold repeats. His eyes sharpen. "I told you to get lemons."

"Oh boy, here we go," Crys sighs. "I'll just start the spring rolls."

"It was cheaper," Silver explains.

"I told you _specifically_ to get lemons!"

"It was cheaper," Silver says again.

"But it's not _fresh_!"

"It's winter. How are lemons fresh."

"I dunno, I'm not a farmer!"

"So what's the difference?"

Gold looks ready to explode. "There's a huge difference! Have you ever heard of lemon bars without using real lemons?"

"Yes."

"No!" Gold insists. "Because those aren't lemon bars, they're cardboard bars! You wanna make good lemon bars, you hafta use good ingredients, and good ingredients means _real_ lemon juice, from _real_ lemons!" Gold pounds his fists on the countertop for emphasis. Silver looks unmoved.

"Hey, uh, Gold?" Red interrupts.

" _What_?" Gold snaps.

"Is something burning?"

"Huh, no —" Gold pauses. His eyes go wide. "Oh crap."

It isn't too much longer before Blue and Yellow show, arriving at a house with five people fanning smoke out the windows in a desperate attempt to avoid setting off the smoke detector. The sausage rolls are charred black beyond all recognition, and even if all the other food comes out looking and tasting delicious, Gold still laments having to serve "boring-ass" lemon bars for the rest of the night at regular ten-minute intervals. And maybe Red is too caught up in dodging arms and legs in a houseful of people and Pokémon, or maybe it's the heady rush of taking a sip of alcohol for the very first time (at Blue's eager urging), or maybe it's merely that Red has bad taste — but to Red, at the very least, the lemon bars taste just fine.

* * *

Red buries his hands in his coat pockets. His boots echo loudly on the sidewalk, louder than Red thinks they should. The day feels quiet and cold, much the same as how Red feels, the frigid air stalking behind him and nipping at his neck. Red tugs his scarf closer in an effort to stave away the chill, then returns his hands into the depths of his coat.

The shopping district of Viridian City is all but deserted. Only a handful of people pass Red by on the street, soundlessly like fog. They flit across the street and disappear in the shadow of tall buildings, apparitions that dissipate as if they never were. Storefronts are shuttered; closed signs hang in the doorways. At the corner, a single convenience store has its lights on. Red glances through the window as he passes by. An old man stands alone, fumbling with an ATM. A store clerk just older than Red leafs through a magazine in vague disinterest. She is about to turn the page when she vanishes behind the logo on the glass, and Red moves on.

Staying cooped up at his house the entire day had seemed intolerable. So Red left. Viridian City was both not too far away from Pallet Town and far enough away from Pallet Town that Red arrived almost entirely on autopilot. The low, boxy houses of the city outskirts became high-rises that hemmed in the sky, and the dirt paths transformed into asphalt and concrete. The Viridian City outskirts turned into a commercial zone; the residential neighborhood turned into the business district. The ceiling of gray clouds tailed behind him, thick with moisture and gray with gloom, hanging over him like an unkept promise.

Blue had been the first. She was on the verge of finding her parents, she had told Red excitedly over the phone a week ago. It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, she'd said, one that she'd searched over a decade for and couldn't let slip away. And so Red smiled and shook his head and told her that she'd find them, because the alternative was a house that was silent and empty, and Red knew far more than most that Blue did not deserve that.

Green had been the last. Gramps had fallen ill, he had told Red gravely over the phone a day ago. He'd come down with a severe case of pneumonia, he'd said, bad enough that he'd only just been released from the hospital. And so Red frowned and offered his help and told him that he'd get through it, because the alternative was a house that was silent and empty, and Red knew far more than most that Green did not deserve that.

And there was everything in between. Red had called Crys, who would be busy looking after the orphans at Earl's Academy after Earl fell and broke his hip. Red had called Gold, whose phone only rang and rang, leaving Red's multiple messages unanswered. Red had called Silver, or he had thought about it, at least — Red didn't know Silver's number (or whether he had a number) and wouldn't have been able to contact him even if he tried. Red had not called Yellow. He couldn't bring himself to.

Red shivers. He's wandered into the hills just outside of Viridian. The air is colder here: there are no residences from which heat can leak, no buildings to slow the wind. Pines dot the knolls here and there, standing surly and tall like obelisks. The waves of tall grass fold away as Red passes through, no Pokémon leaping out to greet him. The hill slopes away from him, down into a valley, then rises again to meet the foothills in the distance that guard the path to Mt. Silver. The mountain that had been Red's training ground looms tall in the sky, its peak rising to meet the clouds, even as the clouds cluster and cling around the mountain's base, as if trying to smother it.

Red follows the path downward. The slope lengthens, and the trail starts looping into switchbacks. The remnants of Viridian City disappear behind the hillside. Rocks dot the landscape, starting as gravel that crunches beneath Red's boots, and growing into boulders, tossed into the valley by time and gravity. The path curves again, and there's a Houndour, ensconced like a watchdog atop a throne of flat, gray stone. It cants its head up at Red's approach and regards him with wary eyes. Behind it, an old tree, gnarled and knotted with weather and age, leans over the trail, branches drooping until they arch across the path and fall over the hillside. The Houndour does not move, only waiting and watching, and it barks a single time, gruffly, as Red ducks underneath the branches and continues down the trail.

The path levels out at the bottom of the valley. A river cuts through the middle at a constant thrum, splitting the valley floor cleanly into two. He walks to the water's edge. The river is waist-deep and clear. Rocks, worn smooth over the years by the rush of water, litter the opposite riverbank like gravestones; two of them are larger than the rest, standing next to each other like partners. Beneath them, moss speckles the ground, and the earth slowly rises until it becomes invisible behind dense stands of trees. One tree has fallen across the water from the opposite shore. He takes a step toward it. The ground squelches beneath him. The tree is sturdy and long, and notches have been carved into the bark where Pokémon have used it to cross the river. He rubs a hand across the surface, gauging its ability to bear his weight. He watches as his breath floats past the leaves and twigs and ascends into the sky, where it joins the rows of heavy clouds entombing the world below.

"Red? Is that you?"

Red jumps. He turns. A thicket of bushes upstream rustles, and Yellow emerges from between them. She holds a fishing rod in her hand, and a sprig of pine needles is nestled atop her straw hat.

"Yellow? What are you doing here?" Red asks back.

"Fishing," she answers simply. She motions with her fishing rod. "What about you?"

Red glances back at the fallen tree that he had thought about trying to cross. "…I'm not sure. Wandering, I guess," he says.

"Oh," Yellow says. She looks away from him and fiddles with her fishing line. Then, apparently satisfied, she sets the bottom of the rod down on the ground in front of her, holding onto it like a shaman's staff. She turns back to Red. "Do you… Want to sit down for a while?"

There's a soft, muffled snap, and Red watches the fallen tree as a loose branch is tugged off by the current. His eyes follow it as it is pulled underwater, then bobs back up to the surface, and is carried downstream and out of sight.

"…Okay," Red decides.

Yellow nods her affirmation, once, then disappears into the bushes. They are so dense that Red would have thought them impassible if he hadn't just seen Yellow slip between them twice. He waves the branches aside, and they give way with a whisper. Behind them is a small clearing, bounded on one side by a chattering river, and on the other by a collection of sturdy white boulders the size of Snor, entirely blotting out views of the trail behind them. A single, sturdy pine in the center of the clearing provides a verdant, green canopy; one of Yellow's sketchbooks leans up against its trunk. A wave of stones fans out across the ground like a carpet, and they clack as Yellow's boots tread over them. She makes her way over to a pair of flat stones, and sits down on the one that is closer to the river.

"Wow," Red murmurs. He follows behind her. His boots cause the rocks underneath to clatter just as Yellow's had, and he sits down on the other flat stone, gazing out at the river, watching the water flow and ripple. "I never would have thought there'd be a clearing like this over here."

Yellow works with her fishing line. "It's hidden really well. I never would have found it if Houndour hadn't shown me."

"Houndour? Huh, I saw a Houndour on the trail down."

"Mm-hm. That's the one. He's very polite."

"You've seen him before?"

Yellow nods. "He's always there, sitting on his rock. He won't tell me why, but that's okay. I'm sure he has his reasons." She finishes adjusting the line, and flicks it into the river. It lands soundlessly in the water. Red watches it float downstream until the line can't go any farther, and Yellow pulls it back.

"I didn't know you came down to fish here," Red says.

"I don't, usually. But around this time of year…" she trails off, focusing on adjusting the line. Once she's finished, her grip slackens, and the line floats out into the river again. "Sometimes I come here."

"Why?" Red wonders aloud.

"I like to keep him company."

"The Houndour?"

"Uh-huh."

Red looks back at the thick bushes they passed through, viridian green like the city's namesake. There is no Houndour nearby, at least not that Red can see. "He's not here," he says.

"He likes having space. But he's lonely, too."

"Oh."

"I don't want him to feel bad. So when it starts getting cold, I come here to fish. That way he knows he's not alone."

"…I'm sure he appreciates it," Red says. Red watches as Yellow wiggles the line across the surface of the water. He picks up a handful of pebbles from the spray of rocks on the ground. They're small and smooth and round like beads. He rolls them in his hand, then flicks them back onto the ground with his thumb, one by one. "Do you always come here on New Year's Day?"

Yellow shakes her head. "Pokémon don't have holidays. I visit him whenever it feels right."

Red considers the collection of stones in his hand. "What about you?"

Yellow turns to him, confused. "Huh?"

"I mean, you're not a Pokémon. Don't you have anything else to do on New Year's Day?"

Yellow tilts her head quizzically. "No? Uh, should I?"

"No, no. It's alright if you don't," Red says, waving her off. "It's just, uh. Most people do. They spend the day with family, or something. So I was just wondering, that's all," he explains, turning the last of the pebbles over in his hand.

Yellow is silent for a moment, then nods. "I see. Is that what you were doing before you came here?"

"No," Red says. He flicks the pebble back onto the ground. It lands with a clunk.

"Oh," is all Yellow says back. She turns back toward the river. Her line's been caught in between the skeletal fingers of a waterlogged tree branch, half-submerged in the middle of the river. Yellow frowns and struggles to reclaim the line. She twists her rod and tugs at an angle, until it is finally pulled free. The effort jostles the branch, and the water subsumes it with a sigh.

"That seems strange, to me," Yellow says, inspecting her line for tangles.

"What does?"

"To have only one day out of the year to be with the ones you care about."

"Some people need a reason, I guess."

"Why would you need a reason to be together?"

"I wish it was that simple," Red murmurs, folding himself up so that he is now sitting cross-legged atop the stone. He gazes down at his lap and allows his fingers to trail lines across the hems of his pants. "But some people are busy, or their jobs take them far away. They can't make time to come home because of other responsibilities," Red says, and he traces the lines where those words have long ago been etched deep into his skin. A breeze catches the branches above him, and Red watches as they rustle and titter, bunching closer together as if seeking comfort from each other. Through the swaying branches, Red can see patches of a dark gray sky and darker gray clouds, and in the dull, overcast light, he wonders whether it is too early or too late.

"I guess I'm lucky, then," Yellow says, and Red pulls his attention away from the sky.

"Huh? Lucky how?" he asks her.

Yellow replaces the bob at the end of the line, then whisks the line back into the river. "You said people spend New Year's Day with the ones they care about," she says, as though she's narrating the ending of a fairy tale. "And today is New Year's Day. So I'm lucky that I can be here with you."

Red stares at Yellow's back. He watches her lure meander down the river, delicately dancing around broken branches and twigs, slipping past rocks jutting like skulls from the water. It lingers, briefly, where the water has gone still and placid, and tiptoes up to the shoreline to greet the irises growing there. Then the river urges it onward, downstream alongside a wake of fallen leaves, until Yellow reclaims it with a gentle tug of her line.

"Hey," Red says, sheepishly and earnestly all at once, and waits for Yellow to turn around and look at him with curious eyes. "Do you remember the story of the Slowpoke? The one you told me three years ago," he continues, and waits for her puzzled nod.

Red glances over at Yellow's sketchbook and the pine tree watching over it, standing tall and proud and carrying the world atop its branches. "Will you tell it to me again?" Red asks her, allowing his gaze to drift down and rest on the sketchbook sheltered underneath.

Yellow doesn't say anything — doesn't question why, doesn't claim to have forgotten the story, doesn't say they're too old to be listening to fairy tales. She only curls her fingers around the line and casts it into the river and says, "Once upon a time, in a small village in the middle of a valley, there lived an old man and an old woman." And Red closes his eyes, listens to the elegy of Yellow's voice, and whispers like a prayer the tale of the Old Man and the Slowpoke alongside her.

* * *

"I'm so glad you could come," Red grins, pulling his front door open wide.

"I'm glad we could be here," Green answers him, with a smile that is, if not as large as Red's, just as sincere. Behind him, Daisy's wearing a smile of her own, demure yet bright enough to be visible through her scarf.

"Where's Professor Oak?" Red asks, making room for them in the doorway. Outside, the air is crisp. A sea of clouds floats by in the sky.

"Home," Green answers.

"Home?"

"He's too old to keep up with us kids anymore — at least, according to him," Daisy answers with an affectionate roll of her eyes.

Green shakes his head. "He said he was an old coot, and wouldn't have us dragging him along and spoiling everybody else's fun. Then he kicked us out the front door and locked it behind us."

"Because he's too old to keep up with us kids anymore," Daisy repeats, eyes twinkling with mirth.

"I — I see," Red stammers. He takes a last look at the clouds outside before closing the door behind them. "You think it's gonna rain?" he wonders.

"Maybe. Could even be cold enough to snow," Green answers, pulling himself out of his coat. He moves to hang it up, but stops short: the coat rack more closely resembles a pile of laundry than anywhere to put an overcoat. The rack is festooned all over with jackets and coats, gloves hanging like ornaments and scarves draping over everything like ivy, all in every color of the rainbow and in every size imaginable. Green examines it closely, attempting in vain to find space for his coat. He finally gives up and turns to Red with eyebrows raised.

Red hastens over to him. "Don't worry — I'll take them upstairs. Remind me to get them for you before you leave," Red tells them.

Three minutes and a quick trip to the upstairs closet later, Red trots back down the staircase and back into the hubbub of people mingling in Red's living room. Blue's hand grabs him by the elbow before he even steps off the landing.

"Red will decide it for us, won't you, Red?" she announces, rotating Red to face an arms-crossed Ruby and an eyebrows-raised Silver.

"Huh? I — decide what?"

"It's exceedingly simple," Ruby decrees with a dismissive wave of his hand. Next to him, Silver plucks a rice cracker from his plate and eats it. "All you have to do is tell Blue that she's wrong."

"H-huh?"

"Oh, please," Blue laughs, a half-empty flute of champagne dangling from her fingers. "I'm never wrong when it comes to this. It would be perfect for you!"

"Absolutely not," Ruby rebuffs her. "It's for doddering old men with one foot in the grave."

Red looks at Silver in confusion.

"Blue wants Ruby to wear a hat," Silver helpfully supplies.

"Ruby's already wearing a hat," Red points out.

"A different hat," Silver says.

"A better hat," Blue corrects him.

"An old man's hat," Ruby grimaces.

Blue pouts. "You haven't even seen it yet! I'm as fashionable as they come, you know, and a newsboy cap would work wonders with a nice coat."

"Only if you're from the nineteenth century," Ruby grumbles.

"Surely you know that fashion changes all the time. What's old is new again!"

"My bell-bottoms will be overjoyed to hear that."

Silver raises his eyebrows judgmentally. "Bell-bottoms?"

"Hypothetically speaking, of course. I burned those years ago."

Blue tuts. "We're all in agreement about this."

"There is no agreement," Ruby argues. He points accusingly at Blue. "It's only you —" He points accusingly at Silver. "— and Silver. And he'd agree with you no matter what you were going to say."

"It's what I pay him for," Blue chirps.

"Regardless, that's hardly any kind of consensus."

"That's what I brought Red over for, isn't it? So what'll it be, Red?" She and Ruby turn expectant eyes on him. Red shrinks. He examines Ruby's knit cap closely. Silver pops another rice cracker into his mouth.

"It's… kinda floppy," Red observes.

Blue's eyes light up. "See? I told you so."

"He didn't say it was bad!" Ruby counters.

"But a newsboy cap would look better."

"It would _not_. It's provincial, pedestrian, and utterly passé."

"Oh, hey. I got bingo," Silver interrupts.

Blue looks at Ruby flatly. "Don't be so pigheaded," she chides him.

"Bingo-plus."

"Newsboy caps would go well with your coat. It's winter, too, so you'll be wanting something thick to keep your head warm. And I'm sure you would appreciate something that covers up your forehead. You and Sapphire both."

Ruby frowns. "What's wrong with my —" He cuts himself off. His eyes narrow. "…What do you know?" he demands.

"I know lots of things," Blue smiles mysteriously, raising her champagne glass to her lips and taking a long sip. Ruby glares back at her. The two of them perform some sort of mental tug-of-war with their eyes. Red watches, befuddled.

Ruby is the first to break eye contact. "…I'll try one on. But that's all I'm promising," he announces in a huff.

"Why, that's all that I ask," Blue answers sweetly, draining the rest of her champagne with a flourish. "Tomorrow at the Viridian Mall, ten o'clock?"

Ruby mutters something unintelligible and nods his head.

"I heard my name! Didja say somethin'?" Sapphire calls out, appearing from behind the sofa. A mountain of snacks is piled precariously high on her plate.

Ruby self-consciously adjusts his hat. "It was nothing. Blue and I were only talking about doing some shopping."

"Did you want to come along with us, Sapphire?" Blue asks.

Sapphire shakes her head furiously. A cookie tumbles off her plate. Silver effortlessly catches it before it hits the ground. "T'anks, but I ain't really one fer shoppin'. Ruby's heaps better 'n me at all that stuff, so I let him handle it."

"My fashion sense is impeccable," Ruby affirms.

"'Sides, Green was sayin' I could come over to his gym tomorrow and practice Pokémon battlin'!"

"That sounds singularly awful."

"Oh, hush, ya big baby."

"Green's really second-to-none at Pokémon battles," Red tells her. "I'm sure you'll learn a lot."

"Whatever his other faults, and there are many, Green certainly knows his way around a Pokémon battle," Blue agrees. She glances over Sapphire's shoulder. Red's eyes follow her, to where Bill has just spotted Daisy and is walking toward her with a goofy smile on his face. Then Bill spots Green standing next to her, and he just as immediately tries to school his face back into careful neutrality. Blue holds her empty champagne flute out to Silver; Silver instantly exchanges it for a full one. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go rescue Daisy."

"From what?" Red asks her.

"The fun police," Blue answers with a sigh, taking a quick sip of champagne as if in preparation. Then she swoops off toward them, cutting her way in between Yellow and Green and looping an arm around Green's elbow so seamlessly that it all happens in barely the space of a few seconds.

"Hey, Ruby," Sapphire starts, jabbing him with her elbow. Ruby coils over. "I was wonderin'… We could go 'round Kanto together, you n' me. We could visit all the gyms, and I even heard there's a Safari Zone! Wouldn't dat be somethin'?"

Ruby grimaces. "There aren't any contest halls."

"So?"

"You can't expect me to spend all that time abroad without showing off how beautiful my Pokémon are."

Sapphire glares at him and grumbles, but apparently decides not to argue. She moves over to the appetizer table, where two tiers of snacks are arrayed on two tiers of dishes: ham-and-cucumber sandwiches, hazelnut cookies, apple turnovers, and spring rolls (not burned, this time). She picks up a cracker with a shrimp on it, and adds it to the mound of food on her plate. "These shrimp things're real good! I never seen 'em before; whaddya call 'em?"

"Gold says it's a shrimp canapé," Silver answers.

Ruby examines the table of appetizers warily. "I still can't believe Gold helped make these."

"It surprised me, too, the first time," Red confesses with a laugh.

"I was half-expecting the house to be set on fire," Ruby huffs.

"Don't worry. There's still time," Silver tells him.

"As long as the food's good, dat's all I care about!" Sapphire announces, tossing the entire shrimp and cracker into her mouth.

Ruby visibly recoils. "You… you didn't just do that, did you?"

"Do what?" Sapphire demands, in between bites. "Eat the shrimp?"

"Eat the shrimp _tail_!"

Sapphire raises an eyebrow. "Why not? It's food, ain't it?"

"That doesn't mean you have to eat it —!"

"Why'd they put the tail on the shrimp if yer not supposed ta eat it?"

"Just because it's there doesn't mean you can digest it!"

"Really?" Sapphire says. "I never had no problems eatin' shrimp tails before."

Ruby clutches the top of the sofa for support.

"Outta the way, you two nattering nincompoops," Emerald announces, unceremoniously pushing his way in between Ruby and Sapphire. Sapphire's pile of food wobbles.

"She was eating shrimp _tails_!" Ruby hisses, scandalized, into Emerald's ear.

"Yeah, yeah, who cares." Emerald waves a nonchalant hand; his sleeve smacks against Ruby's face. He points at Silver. "Gold says he was wrong for telling you to get lost and he wants you back in the kitchen. So I'm here to fetch you."

"Okay," Silver says with a shrug. He puts his plate down on the table and follows after Emerald. Red decides to restock the empty bags of chips, and excuses himself. Behind them, Ruby and Sapphire continue arguing over the appropriateness of consuming shrimp tails.

"I thought Gold kicked you out of the kitchen?" Red wonders aloud as they leave the living room.

Silver nods.

"His exact words were 'get lost,'" Emerald chimes in.

"But now he wants you back?"

Silver nods.

"Why?"

"Because Silver cooks wrong!" Gold shouts from behind a steaming pot, full of something that smells sweet and spicy and delicious.

Next to him, Crys shakes her head. "There's no wrong way to cook, Gold."

"Yes there is, and it's exactly how Silver does it."

"Then stop complaining about how slow the food's coming along without Silver to help."

Silver perches himself on one of the barstools near the counter. "He's getting better. This is two minutes earlier than usual."

"Than usual?" Red repeats. "This happens… a lot?"

"All the time," Crys confirms.

"But if you already know you're gonna call him back in, why kick him out at all?" Emerald protests, incredulously.

"Oh, Peculiar Kid. You're still so young, and there's still so much for you to learn," Gold laments wistfully, patting Emerald's head. Emerald scrunches up his eyes in irritation. "Always remember that the number-one rule in life is to annoy Silver as much as possible. Because he deserves it."

"Don't do that," Crys sighs.

"That doesn't make a lick of sense," Emerald objects. "You say you're annoying Silver by kicking him out of the kitchen. But he doesn't really care.  _You're_ the one complaining afterward because the food isn't being cooked fast enough. You're annoying yourself."

Gold raises a finger, as if to object, but freezes halfway through, mouth open. Emerald grabs Gold's other hand and removes it from his head.

"Oh. He finally realized," Silver says.

Gold turns to Silver, sputtering. "W- wait, what? You just let me — on purpose? I thought I had one over on you!"

"It was fun while it lasted."

Gold puffs up like a Qwilfish. "Silver, get lost," he demands.

"Okay."

Emerald frowns. "But isn't that exactly what Silver wants you to —"

"Put a sock in it, Peculiar Kid," Gold huffs. He busies himself with running water over the dishes in the sink.

"How are your sushi rolls coming along, Em?" Crys intervenes.

Emerald looks down at a just-rolled strip of sushi on the counter. The edges of the roll don't have enough rice, and the seaweed wrapping is falling apart at one end. "Not good," he admits.

"Don't worry. It took me years to get it right," Crys tells him. She looks curiously at the sushi roll. "It looks like the roll wasn't pressed hard enough. Roll it tighter the next time, and it'll push the rice out toward the edges and keep the seaweed wrapped tight."

"Oh," Emerald says, morosely.

"Like I said, it takes practice," Crys reassures him. "But for now, why don't we take a taste?"

"But it looks terrible," Emerald says.

"Looks aren't everything. How it tastes — that's most important, and it's the hardest to get right. Appearances are easy to adjust, but the flavor is harder to fix."

"Super Serious Gal's right, you know," Gold chimes in.

"Huh?"

"As the chef, you hafta taste-test everything you make. So you get first dibs on all the food, and nobody gets to complain 'cuz you're the chef! It's the best part about cooking. Unless you're Silver, then the best part is anything with knives."

"This part has knives," Silver says.

"So we got this bad boy all to ourselves," Gold grins, fishing a soapy knife out of the sink and toweling it dry. "I'll do the honors, if you don't mind."

Crys holds her hand out.

"But I've been cutting stuff up all day and nothing bad happened!"

Crys keeps her hand held out. "You nearly sliced off your finger cubing the pork."

"But I _didn't_!"

Crys motions with her fingers for Gold to give her the knife.

Gold pouts. "Fine. As long as Silver doesn't get to do it," he says, and surrenders the knife to Crys. Crys takes it from him with a no-nonsense frown. She places it over the roll of sushi, then places Emerald's hand over the knife handle, guiding him as they cut it.

Gold turns to Red. "Man, Red-Senpai, can you believe these guys? They're no fun at all."

"They just want to be safe," Red says.

"That's why they're no fun." Gold says. "Oh, hey, Fashionable Lad! Welcome to the party!"

Ruby freezes halfway through the door. He winces. "This was a mistake."

Red decides to take pity on him. "Ruby, help me take these chips out to the living room," he says, and tosses a bag into Ruby's hands.

"Huh?" Ruby stammers, juggling the bag between his hands before managing to catch it. Red guides him by the shoulder back down the hall and into the living room. "Wait, no —"

Red frowns. "I thought you wanted a way out."

"I did, but —"

"Why, I never thunk it, but are you Birch's girl?"

"You betcha!"

"— not _this_ way," Ruby groans, assiduously attempting to remain invisible in Red's shadow.

"Hoo dog, talk 'bout a small world! Last I saw, ya was knee-high to a Caterpie!"

"Ya know my pops?"

"I shure do know him. We met down at a conference with a programmin' buddy of mine. He still goin' out in the field n' gettin' run down by wild Pokémon?"

"Yep, dat's him, alright! He always says he couldn't do none of his research without whatcha did. So I gotta say t'anks in person to the guy dat made the storage system!"

"Well, shucks! I shure don't feel like no celebrity. Me, I'm jest a reg'lar ol' feller who likes to tinker with machines n' such."

"I can't take this," Ruby groans.

"He's from Goldenrod," Red patiently explains.

" _I'm_ from Goldenrod. _I_ don't talk like that," Ruby hisses back.

"Hey, Ruby! I was wonderin' where ya ran off to!" Sapphire shouts, and waves Ruby over. "This is Bill, and he made the storage system fer trainers! Ya gotta come say t'anks!"

"Nowhere is safe," Ruby utters despairingly, re-emerging from Red's shadow. Red pats him reassuringly on his shoulder.

Bill laughs. "Hey, Red, ya shure make pals with the darndest people, ya know?"

Red rubs his head sheepishly. "It just kinda ended up happening. But I don't mind. They're all good people, so I'm grateful."

"That's as shure as the sun rises. But it's a real two-way road, is what it is. Like goes with like — least, that's what my folks used to say. Heck, I mightn't even be here if you weren't around."

"Hey, what's dat outside?" Sapphire interrupts. Her face and hands are pressed up against the window, her breath fogging the glass.

"Huh? What's what, now?"

"Dat funny-lookin' white stuff fallin' from the sky. It don't look like ash," Sapphire says, face pressed against the window. Red maneuvers himself closer to the glass to look for himself. Outside, clouds stretch across the entire span of sky, thick and gray and so tightly clustered that Red thinks that even the sky cannot possibly fit them all. He cannot see anything but the clouds, at first, but then there is the glimpse of something whiter than gray, and Red is able to make out fleeting flecks of snow, drifting lazily down from the sky, landing on the ground and speckling it with white.

"Color me more surprised n' a Sentret at an Arbok farm! You ain't never seen snow?"

"Snow?" Sapphire repeats, slowly, as though she's saying the word for the first time. Her eyes are wide with childlike wonder. "I heard about it n' all, but I never saw it in real life before."

"Why, I plumb forgot you're from Hoenn! Course you ain't never seen snow before. Up here, we get it reg'lar 'round wintertime."

Sapphire stares out the window for several moments. "I'm goin' outside!" she abruptly declares, shoving her way past Red and to the front door.

"Wait, Sapphire!" Ruby shouts after her, but she's already swung open the front door and run outside. "You can't just — you'll catch cold!" he shrills, stumbling over to the coat rack and digging through coats and scarves and gloves and then disappearing out the door behind her.

"Did something happen?" Green asks, coming in from the living room.

Red nods, smiling. "It's snowing."

Blue looks out the window, at the same spot where Sapphire had been standing. "It _is_ snowing."

"Did someone say it's snowing?" Gold demands, tumbling out from the kitchen.

Emerald isn't far behind, and he darts over to a window to look for himself. "Wow. I've been in Hoenn so long, I almost forgot what it looks like," he muses.

"Why don't we go outside and refresh your memory, then?" Crys tells him.

"Really? Okay!" Emerald says excitedly, shrugging his coat on in no time at all, Gold fighting with Silver to see who can be the first to follow him out the door, and Crys trailing behind.

"Everyone's going outside," Yellow murmurs.

Red is struck by the impulse to follow them, and so he does, and then all twelve of them are standing outside Red's home, watching the snow pepper their clothes, watching the grass and trees be dusted with white, watching as the heavens open up and rain down snowflakes like a celebration. Bill and Daisy are standing close, close enough to share warmth in the cold, and then there's Green and Crys chatting away, their breath fogging in the air, and Gold is toting Emerald piggyback on his shoulders, the pair of them with wild grins, and Blue is leaning up ever-so-slightly to brush snowflakes from Silver's hair. High above them, snow comes tumbling down, as white as a new beginning and as infinite as possibility, and Red thinks he could reach out and grasp each of them for himself.

"What are you thinking, Red?" Yellow asks from beside him.

Red watches Sapphire standing as upright as she can, trying to catch a snowflake on her tongue. Ruby attempts to throw a jacket over her shoulders, only to miss completely; Emerald ducks out of the way, and the jacket smacks Gold in the face instead.

Red hums contentedly to himself, hushed in the falling snow. "Next time you go and visit Houndour, I'd like to come along. I asked Gold to cut up some meat for him. I think he might like it."

Yellow hums back. "I think so, too."

"Hey, look, Ruby! I got one!" Sapphire announces proudly, sticking her tongue in Ruby's face. "D'ya see it?"

"No, because it melted," Ruby cringes. "Now put on a coat before you freeze."

"It melted? Then I gotta get another one!"

"Oooh, you know what?" Gold says, practically vibrating. "This is getting me in the mood for baked Alaska."

"It _is_ perfect weather for it," Daisy agrees. "What better way to celebrate the first snow of the year?"

"Baked Alaska?" Emerald demands from atop Gold's shoulders. "What's that?"

"It's a dessert," Crys explains. "It's cake and ice cream, together, underneath a layer of meringue."

"I ain't never had one neither, but I heard it's a real treat," Bill says.

"So… it's like an ice cream sandwich?" Emerald wonders.

Crys nods. "A bit. But instead of the biscuit, there's cake instead."

"Sounds real fancy," Sapphire chimes in, jacket finally around her shoulders.

"And then you give it a good flambé!" Gold exclaims.

"Flambé?" Green repeats skeptically. "Wait. You have to set it on fire?"

"Why do you think Gold likes it?" Silver responds.

"No way," Green immediately says.

"Oh, come on, Green," Blue chides him. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Red's house could burn down. We could all die."

Blue laughs. "Wouldn't that be something? The first time we all celebrate New Year's Day at Red's house, and Gold burns the place down."

"Hey!" Gold protests. "Why are you just assuming it'd be 'cuz of me?"

"Because we've met you," Silver deadpans.

Crys puts a hand on her chin. "We'll have to bake the cake. And the meringue will take some time to whip together."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Emerald demands. "Time's wasting, and I wanna see someone set an ice cream sandwich on fire!"

"Chic and me can help with lightin' it if ya need," Sapphire offers.

Gold puffs up his chest proudly. "Have I ever told you Hoenn kids how great you are?"

"Oh my god," Ruby moans. "We _are_ all going to die."

"Except for you, Fashionable Lad."

Silver pats Ruby's shoulder. "Wear it as a badge of honor."

"So we're setting Red's house on fire?" Green asks.

"We're setting Red's house on fire," Blue confirms merrily.

Red holds out a gloved hand, and watches as snow powders it white. He looks up at the New Year's sky. He smiles. "Yeah," he says. "Let's do that."

**Author's Note:**

> This piece originated from me reading way more than I probably should have into Red's ruminations after the Deoxys battle during the FRLG chapter. It really stuck with me, though, and this ginormous monstrosity is largely the result of that. Someday, I will write an actually short fic.


End file.
